


Closer

by 00qverlord



Series: 1 AM Pepsi induced writing extravaganzas. [5]
Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, No Dialogue, Post-Canon, The Blackwood Event, mentions of a coffee shop, sole survivors Chris and Mike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 04:35:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10506414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/00qverlord/pseuds/00qverlord
Summary: It's not an uncommon sight to see Chris slip into bed beside Mike when the nightmares come knocking.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I literally wrote this in like an hour and like 2 hours after finishing watching Markiplier play it (he got the ending where everyone but Josh lived, poor Josh man), and like 15 minutes after that I was reading sole survivors fics about Chris and Mike cause sue me I ship them. Anyway, have fun, this is my interpretation on a post-canon fic.

     The word 'rescue' seems like a bit of a misnomer. They weren't 'rescued' from Blackwood mountain, they weren't 'rescued' from the burning lodge or 'rescued' from the wendigos who were slinking back into the shadows as the sun rose over the skyline. Chris was too numb to feel anything, hands on elbows and bright lights and confessions and talking and talking and talking and Chris felt like he was going to either throw up or pass out. Maybe both. Sleep seemed like a hell of a drug that he was willing to take. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was probably the last good night's sleep he would ever have again. It was a vague wisp of a thought that didn't go anywhere.   
     Mike being around Chris made him pull back into awareness. He felt dazed, dissociative, the lights were too bright but when Mike was there it was ok. Mike was braver than all of them. Mike was braver than Chris. Chris could make jokes about it and play it off with other people, but inside the guilt and grief was eating away at his bones like raw meat. 

     They bought an apartment together, Chris and Mike. Living benefits, Mike had said, but they both knew after all they'd been through, neither of them could afford to keep to themselves and also keep sane. The first couple days, they only accomplished the bare minimum. Shower. Eat. Stare out the window because Chris had nothing better to do than let his thoughts consume him. The cereal was dry. Dry and cracked and flavourless, everything was starting to taste like mashed potatoes, except for when Mike was around. He could taste things then. Smell them, feel them like he was alive again.   
     Numerous people had told them to go to a therapist, but the two didn't need any other therapists but themselves. They would talk about it sometimes, for hours, reliving the less painful memories. Others, they would sit on opposite ends of the couch and not say a word for hours on end, Oprah in the background their only company. 

     Nightmares were common. Chris was a light sleeper. He didn't used to be. He's gotten jumpier. Mike still slept like a rock, except for the screaming, the tossing and turning and yelling and heavy breaths. They both slept with their doors open in case a quick escape was necessary, which meant that Mike's noise carried to Chris' adjacent room. Chris would wake up, hearing Mike, waddle over in heavy sleepwear, and slide under the covers on the other side. Chris' presence usually forced Mike to wake up, _there's someone else here, there's someone else here you're going to die you're going to die wake up wake up wake up._ Mike shot up, gasping and panting like someone had stabbed him in the gut. Maybe they had, he wasn't sure yet. No, it's just Chris. Again. You're safe, home, Chris is here, Chris is home. Mike hit the pillow hard going down, appreciating the buzz going through his head. It was grounding, feeling pain for just a couple seconds. Enough to make him aware, but not enough to send him into a tizzying panic.  
     On the nights that Chris had nightmares, he would wake himself up. There was never any noise, just a cold sweat that soaked him from head to toe, making him shiver, which would send him back into a panic because it was cold, it shouldn't be cold. Flashbacks to walking on the mountain in the snow would befall him, forcing himself to get out of bed, change and then crawl into bed beside Mike. Neither of them brought it up the next day. 

     The press were outside their apartment building for days on end after they arrived back home safely. One or both of the boys would walk outside, for fresh air, for groceries, and there it was, the telltale camera shutter and question after question after question after question.   
When the first papers came out, Chris didn't read anything past the headline.   
_The Blackwood Boys_  
_Sole Survivors_  
     Those were the only two papers the boys actually got on a regular basis, the Sun and the Bugle. Chris just wished they would leave them alone. He had to relive what had happened every night, he didn't need to in the daytime as well.

     While Mike and Chris weren't particularly close before the Blackwood incident, they bonded wordlessly afterwards. Living together helped, learning each other's likes and dislikes, habits, routines, Chris learned that Mike was the kind of guy who ate all the marshmallows out of the Lucky Charms box before Chris even got a stab at them. Mike learned that Chris was the kind of guy to have 5 spare boxes of Lucky Charms, and no matter how hard he looked, Mike came up empty when searching for them. Mike learned that Chris was an absolute nerd and had at least 3 boxes chalk full of comics, and Chris learned that Mike wasn't so bad when he found Mike up late in the night reading every issue of the Immortal Iron Fist that Chris owned (all 27). 

     The first time Mike had kissed Chris, it wasn't as surprising as it probably should have been. Mike had been trying to be smooth most of the night already, putting on reruns of Firefly in the background (all of which Chris had seen before, twice). He hadn't exactly been as subtle as he thought he was being, probably. Chris was pretty far from dumb. Honor roll student (well, he's not in high school any more, but when he was,) who was fairly attractive and did occasionally get advances from girls. He knew what he was looking at, he was staring at it in the face. Actually, he was staring at Mike as Mike drew closer, but really, what difference?  Of course Chris reciprocated. There wasn't anyone else in his life that Chris spent as much time with. He had casual acquaintances, but nothing even remotely close to the unique relationship he had with Mike, forged by all they'd been through. They'd stopped at kissing, when Mike grew panicked. The last time he'd tried this with someone, it had been Jess, and she'd gotten ripped from his grasp and the window. Chris had reassured him that yes, in fact, they were on a couch and not near any windows, but he complied with not going any further, at least for now.

     Slowly but surely, Chris started to not feel so empty. There were still days where missing his friends hurt like hell, and there were still days where he wished it was him and not them, and Chris didn't really think those would ever go away, but Mike was there. Chris was there for Mike when he felt it too. A silent comfort by the other's side was the perfect remedy, sometimes. Chris started to feel like he could live life again. It would never go back to the way it was before, but they could sure as hell try to get to something close to that. 

     They didn't show each other off in public, like Mike probably would with Jess if she was still around. Not for fear of homophobic harassment, but because what they had was more private than something anyone could take a glance at. Their moments were special, hidden away in metaphorical corners that only they had the passcode too. Friends, that's what people assumed, they were friends brought close by tragedy who couldn't bare to let the other go. Chris and Mike didn't bother to correct them. Let them assume, they didn't have what Chris and Mike had.  
     Chris stopped bothering to try and sleep in his own bed. Both of them were more comfortable with the other there, warding off the worst of the nightmares with protective presences. More physically comfortable around one another, Mike tended to sleep with his shirt off. Chris had absolutely no problem with that. The monsters that lurked in the dark were the same ones as the monsters on Blackwood mountain, but the monsters in the room with them weren't real. Their own fear was playing tricks on their brains. Chris could sometimes swear he saw a shadow move across the wall like a wendigo, their impending doom was back, _we're gonna die we're gonna die we're gonna die we're gonna die._ Mike holds him tight until the fear passes. 

     Maybe what they have isn't the most conventional, but they've survived this long. Mike wanted to ask Chris to marry him, maybe not today, maybe in years when they were ready, but Mike wasn't sure he wanted to live a life without Chris in it. They helped each other heal, and once they felt like they could heal on their own, Chris still didn't leave Mike's side.  

     There came a time where they had to integrate back into society. They wanted their little bubble of _I don't want to deal with this right now_ to last forever, but people expected things of them. Chris got a job at a coffee shop. He wanted to be a programer, or something with computers, technology, engineering, but baby steps first, crawl before you walk before you run. Mike picked up acting jobs. He was good at it, and attractive enough to fit the part. He never did a horror movie though. Not ever. There were contracts offered to him for that particular genre, and Mike always turned them down. It was too vivid, too real, and all too likely the events would come flooding back to him in a torrent of panic and pain. He took a liking to action movies, however, explosions and guns and espionage, James Bond ripoffs, that's where he found freedom. 

     While the Blackwood ordeal was horrible and tragic, leaving two boys with scars that would never heal, if it weren't for it all happening they would never have come together in the way that they did. It all started one night with a nightmare and a passing kiss on his forehead.


End file.
